


Down at the Crossroads

by pat_o_cake



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_o_cake/pseuds/pat_o_cake
Summary: Who says you need a soul in order to make a deal with a crossroads demon?





	Down at the Crossroads

"And what is it you think I can do for you exactly?"

The stress at the end of the question oozed pointedly towards Spike, who through a mist of scotch and cigarettes, stifled a giggle.

"It's all a bit of a laugh really isn't it?" Replied Spike, drawling on fag. "I mean, a Vampire, summoning a crossroads demon to make a deal, it's bloody ludicrous". He inhaled sharply and threw the cigarette over his shoulder with an affected gesture "We don't even have souls mate!"

If Spike thought he knew one thing about Hellmouths, it was that they were never boring places to be. However, Sunnydale just hadn't been the same recently. Sure, there was always an 'end of the world' situation occuring, but the joy of mild peril had all but evapourated in the last few weeks. Killing time (metaphorically and literally) was an ever-present reality of vampirism. Still he was nothing if not resourceful and there was always fun to be had baiting someone or something to alleviate such a situation. After borrowing one or two bottles of Gile's private stash (the one behind his public selection) and in a fug of drunkeness, the poetic irony of gambling with nothing with a demon seemed like a spectacularly good idea. 

"Haha, it's funny because I've not got a soul stupid" he repeated. "I thought you'd at least appreciate a laugh, seeing that y'know, you're from Hell and it's crap and such" he added, circling the demon, necking the bottle with exaggerated chugs.

The demon remained motionless and seethed. Spike could see heat-haze eminating from him in the moonlight and for the briefest moment, he was reminded of a night in Beijing long ago. Momentarily lost in the nostalgia of killing his first Slayer, he didn't notice the demon approach until his hands were gripped around and throttling his neck. Before he had time to react, Spike had been tossed to the wayside, his jacket twisted up comically around his upper body from the impact. The demon dusted himself off and cracked his neck with a languid twist before picking up the bottle.

"Seeing as the Hellmouth is so pleasant at this time of year, I'll just take this and be on my way. Don't bother calling me up again you blonde piss-ant".

Spike, dragged himself up into a squat and smiled. "Oh come on it was at least a little bit funny".

The demon shook his head and turned around, taking a swig from the bottle. It was surprisingly good. Holding it close he read the label. "Glencraig".

Walking away, the demon allowed himself a reserved chuckle. Spike saw the shrug of his shoulders and burst into laughter, falling back into the road. "See! It is funny!" he drunkenly guffawed "It's a real rib-tickler!"

Perhaps the night hadn't been a complete waste of time after all.


End file.
